It pealed again. Unbelievable! He rose to his feet and pulled open the door, unable to make the connection for a moment. It was a bit like seeing an iceberg in the middle of the desert—completely unexpected. The very last thing he had expected was to see his wife standing on the doorstep.
‘Hello, Guido,’ she said quietly.
‘Lucy!’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘This is certainly a surprise.’
It wasn’t the greeting she had wanted or hoped for. He was standing there with a wary look on his face, yet his hard, lean body was tense and expectant.
‘Maybe I should have phoned. Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ And then she stopped focussing on him and focussed on the sound of sultry saxophone drifting through the air from behind him. Her eyes opened wide in horror. ‘Unless…unless—’ Oh, God. ‘Unless you’re busy, of course?’
He heard the accusation in her voice and his mouth tightened. ‘And what is it you think I might be busy with, Lucy?’ he questioned, in a soft, dangerous voice. ‘You think I have someone in here with me?’
The world stood still. She looked into his eyes, black and stormy as the night. ‘Have you?’
‘Why don’t you take a look for yourself?’
She needed courage then as she had never needed it before, and she brushed past him, her head held high, two wings of colour burning across her cheeks.
The room looked set for seduction. Soft lights. Soft music. There was even a bottle of wine opened. Her eyes scanned the table. One glass! She turned back to look at him again, only this time his eyes were taunting her.
‘Seen enough?’ he mocked.
She had come to a tentative decision on the plane, and the emotions which were rollercoastering around inside her now made it crystallise into certainty. She was through with treading carefully, as if she was negotiating some rocky and unknown path. From now on she was going to start walking proud and strong.
‘Are you alone?’ she demanded.
He gave an odd kind of laugh and walked over to the table. He poured himself a glass of wine, glancing over his shoulder at her. ‘Will you join me?’ he questioned, in a mocking voice.
He still hadn’t answered her question! But surely his careless attitude must mean that there was no one else in the apartment? Not even Guido could demonstrate sang-froid like that if some female was hiding out in the bedroom. The thought of that made her wince.
‘I’m pregnant!’ she said, relief making her snap at him. ‘Remember?’
‘How am I likely to forget?’ he lobbed back, and then sipped his wine. ‘Sit down. Take the weight off your feet and tell me why you’re here.’
Lucy sank onto one of the sofas, suddenly exhausted. Why was she here?
‘Or let me guess,’ he continued. ‘You thought you would turn up unannounced to “surprise” me, but in reality you were expecting to catch me in bed with someone—isn’t that right, Lucy?’
The strain had been building up for a long time, and now it had reached an unbearable pitch. His words were enough to make her snap. She stared at him, all pretence gone, for she did not have the appetite or the energy for it any more. ‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘Yes, I did! Yes, yes, yes—I did!’
His face was a cruel, dark mask. ‘And that would have played right into your hands, wouldn’t it? For, no matter how watertight a prenuptial agreement, what court is going to look kindly on a man who is unfaithful to his young pregnant bride within the first month of marriage? Was that why you refused to have sex with me, Lucy? Hoping to drive me to just that response? Because, if so, I hate to disappoint you—but on this occasion I’m going to have to. Feel free to search every nook and cranny of the apartment, but you will find it empty.’
She had thought that she could not be hurt any more than she already had been, but she had been wrong, for his wounding words slashed right through what remained of her composure. Did he really think she was so scheming that she would concoct such a thing? That she would use their sex-life—or lack of it—as some strategy—a carefully devised plan? Did he think so little of her that he thought she was capable of such deviousness?
A long, shuddering cry escaped her, and, willing the tears not to fall, she buried her face in her hands.
‘Lucy?’
She heard the concern in his voice but shook her head as if to deny it, her hair spilling untidily over her shoulders.
‘Lucy!’ he said urgently, and then he was by her side.
‘Go away.’
‘Look at me.’
‘No!’ Her words were muffled by her hands, and as she felt him draw them away she stared at him defiantly. ‘I didn’t scheme, if that’s what you think, but, yes, I did think you might have someone here—or that you might in the future. And what’s more…what is more…who could really blame you if you did?’
He stilled. ‘What did you just say? That sounded very like you giving me permission to stray, cara.’ His voice took on a deadly tone. ‘Is that what you would like? To free me so that another man can be your lover? Do you have someone in mind, then, Lucy?’
How wrong could he possibly be? ‘No!’ She stared at him as if he were completely mad. ‘I haven’t wanted anyone else! Not since I met you—not for a second.’
‘Then perhaps you would explain what it is you’re talking about?’
She shrugged her shoulders desperately. ‘I know that you’re a hot-blooded man—and I had no right to withhold sex from you.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake—there you go again!’ he exploded. ‘I don’t want it to be like that. It isn’t something that I want and you won’t give me—it should be something we both want. And you don’t, do you, Lucy?’
There was a long, long silence. Was she strong enough to do something to rectify a situation which was becoming daily more unbearable? Or was stupid, stubborn pride going to stand in her way?
‘Yes, I do,’ she whispered. ‘I want you very much.’
Her words were soft and indistinct, but he heard them, and he smoothed back the mussed hair from her cheeks to see confusion in her eyes.
‘Oh, Lucy,’ he said softly.
‘I don’t know how it’s come to this,’ she admitted on a whisper.
And neither did he. He rippled his fingers down her neck and her eyelids fluttered to a close. ‘You are worn out,’ he said unsteadily.
‘Yes.’
‘Come. Come with me.’
Her eyes flew open as he bent to scoop her up into his arms—as if he carried pregnant women every day of the week. ‘Are you taking me to…bed?’
His eyes were smoky with hunger and his blood was on fire with need. Expectation was racing over his skin and making it burn. ‘Oh, I think I have to—don’t you?’
She was trembling and excited and scared all at the same time as he carried her through to the vast and airy room, where he lay her down on the bed. His eyes narrowed as he took in her chalk-white complexion, the freckles standing out in bold relief on her skin, as if they had been painted on. Unexpectedly he began stroking her cheek, using rhythmical, soothing fingers, as if he were petting a pampered cat, and gradually the tension began to leave her. The hectic glitter left her eyes and she felt herself sinking into the comfort zone which her keyed-up body craved, her weighted eyelids sinking irrevocably downwards.
To her astonishment, she must have slept, for when she opened her eyes again the room was empty.
Had she dreamt it all? Blinking, she sat up and looked at the empty space on the bed beside her. It was smooth and unrumpled. There was a glass of water on the bedside table and she gulped it down thirstily. When she glanced up again it was to see his dark, silent form in the doorway, watching her from between narrowed eyes.
Carefully, she put the empty glass back down. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘Two hours.’
‘Two hours?’ She stared at him. So he had changed his mind—when the opportunity had presented itself he had not wanted to make love to her after all.
He saw the
look on her face and began to unbutton his shirt.
Her hand flew to suddenly trembling lips. ‘Guido?’
‘Mmm?’ His voice was husky and deep with desire. ‘You want this, Lucy,’ he murmured. ‘In fact, I’d say that you need it. We both do.’
There was no affection in those words, but right then she didn’t care. Her mouth bone-dry, she watched as the shirt fluttered to the floor and he began to tug at his belt. He rasped the zip down and stepped out of his trousers, kicking his shoes off until he was standing proudly and unselfconsciously naked before her.
Lucy began to tremble even more—and she was not a trembling kind of person. She had seen him aroused many times, but never like this. He was walking towards her now, his face full of purpose and desire, and some soft inner core of her wanted to cry out, to ask where the tenderness of earlier had disappeared to. But he was right. Her need was as deep as his. And no words came other than the breathy sound of his name on her lips.
‘Guido.’
With a fierce look of concentration, he began to undress her with hands which were steady—until she too was naked, and then they began to shake as he saw the evidence of how lush she was with his child. Her once-flat belly was now a proud, hard swell, and he felt his throat tighten as he looked at it. Should they be doing this? After her long flight and such a stormy reunion? Was it…was it safe? Instinct fought with desire, but desire conquered him as she lifted her arms up to loop themselves around his neck and pull him down close to her.
He gasped, as her warm, expanded body pressed against his flesh. It was a new and profoundly shattering sensation, and blindly he reached for one of the cashmere blankets which lay at the end of the bed and pushed its soft folds against her skin.
‘Cover yourself!’ he commanded unsteadily.
She could feel him moving away from her, but she gripped his arm tight, forcing their eyes to meet.
‘You don’t want me?’
‘Are you crazy? Of course I want you! But I didn’t realise…’ He swallowed. ‘Signora Dolce, but it is a long time since I saw you naked, Lucy.’
‘Too long.’ One barrier had fallen down to be replaced by another, but she was damned if she was going to allow him to put her on the untouchable pedestal of the Madonna. ‘And too long since we have been together like this.’
‘You want me?’ he demanded unsteadily. ‘You are sure?’
More than anything. But she was too choked with emotion to speak for a moment. She had never seen her Guido look so undecided. ‘Yes,’ she breathed eventually. ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure. Very sure.’ And she watched his doubts dissolve.
Like an explorer discovering uncharted land, he ran the flat of his hand over her hard, pregnant swell. After a while she put her hand between his legs, and he groaned.
It felt strange and wonderful. Both disconnected and real to rediscover his flesh and his firm, hard body, to let him work the magic he always worked, as she did on him. In bed they were still dynamite together, even when she was clumsier than usual with the baby. They locked their legs around each other with the delight of familiarity sharpened by the hunger of abstinence, and their kisses were breathless.
He pulled his head away and looked down into her face, his expression sombre. ‘I am afraid of hurting you, cara.’
She shook her head. ‘Well, you won’t.’ In bed, he never hurt her.
‘Will you show me?’ he whispered.
She could hear the uncertainty in his voice and she reached down to guide him inside her, thinking that he had sounded almost vulnerable. Oh, please stay like that, my darling, she prayed silently. Please.
And afterwards they lay, sucking in greedy breaths of air, Lucy in that state of sleepy satisfaction she had almost forgotten. She turned to look at him, and yawned. ‘Bet you’ve never made love to a pregnant woman before!’
He frowned as he ran his fingertips over her bump again, only this time it was like a doctor checking for broken bones. ‘Do you feel okay?’
‘Guido, I feel fine.’ And then her heart sank in disbelief as he pulled away from her and got up off the bed. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
He pulled on a towelling wrap and gave her a careless smile.
‘To make you some food.’
‘Guido, I don’t want anything to eat!’ I want you. I want us to make things right between us—and nothing else matters apart from that.
He was running—from what, he didn’t know. And what was more, he didn’t care. ‘You ate…when?’
She sighed. ‘There was food on the plane—’
‘Which you never eat—you told me yourself you hate airline food!’ he declared softly. ‘Now, no protests, please, Lucy—you must look after yourself.’
Pointless to argue, for she recognised the determination in his voice. Some women might just have lain back against the down pillows and rejoiced in being waited on, but all Lucy could feel was a great, aching gap. With that one distancing gesture he had reminded her that she wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for the baby. Yet they had just come together in an act that had been as much about reconciliation as making love, and that was a start. Surely the food could have waited while they talked about it?
But Guido didn’t want to talk about it—and certainly not straight after sex, when his defences were down.
In the distance, she could hear him clattering around in the kitchen, even singing to himself softly in Italian, like a man well pleased with himself. But of course he would be. One fundamental appetite had been satisfied; he was now simply addressing another one.
Or was she being a little hard on him? Perhaps he needed to collect his thoughts after what had happened.
He returned to the bedroom carrying a tray loaded with coffee and sandwiches.
‘You’re doing my old job!’ she joked. ‘You’ll be wearing a stewardess’s uniform next!’
He smiled, but it was nothing more than a distant and sexy smile.
‘Eat something,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll feel better.’
Better?
He put the tray down to plant a long and lingering kiss on her lips, and it had the desired effect of making her skin shiver with longing. But his next words killed it stone-dead.
‘Just because we have a marriage which was born out of practicality,’ he said softly, ‘doesn’t mean to say we can’t make it work—does it, Lucy?’
Her blood ran cold, for it was such an analytical and businesslike assessment, and at that precise moment Lucy realised nothing had changed. He could have been a million miles away from her instead of in the same bedroom. They might have become close in the physical sense, but that was all.
Emotionally, the stalemate remained exactly the same—with her wanting more than her cool Prince of a husband was prepared to give.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THEY stayed put in New York.
‘Don’t you want to be away from my family for a while?’ Guido whispered beguilingly. ‘Just the two of us?’
‘Y-yes,’ she said uncertainly—but how could she even think straight with him dipping his head to run his lips with a butterfly brush down her neck like that?
‘We can fix you up with an obstetrician here, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
Well, actually, it wasn’t—but in a way it was easier to hide behind the natural anxieties of a mother-to-be than the concerns which still lay like a steel barrier between them.
What had happened to walking proud and strong? She had come up against a rock, that was what. The stony and unchangeable knowledge that you couldn’t control someone. You couldn’t make someone love you.
Lucy nodded her head, as if her doctor’s appointment had been what was troubling her all along.
He introduced her to his life in the city. His friends. His business colleagues. They went to England for Christmas to visit her parents in their rambling cottage, where they had spent a Christmas which had not proved to be the endurance test she had been dreading. But then Guido
had been charming and diplomatic—skills which had been drummed into him from the cradle—and her mother and father had not even begun to guess at the great emotional distance which lay between them like a canyon.
Back in New York, there were trips to the opera and weekends out of town. And he took her shopping—he liked taking her shopping—even though she tried to curb the amount of clothes and jewels he lavished on her.
‘Guido, I don’t need all this stuff!’ she protested.
‘Well, no one ever said you needed diamonds,’ he remarked drily. ‘But I thought they were what every woman wanted.’
Were they? Her fingers touched the icy splendour of the huge diamond pendant which dangled between her swollen breasts. A glittering trophy whose cost she didn’t even dare to think about. Would it sound ungrateful to say that sometimes she felt like a little girl who was being given free access to the dressing-up box?
The maternity clothes she wore were cut to cleverly flatter the bump and were shockingly expensive. But as a princess she knew that she needed to look the part. She couldn’t attend all the functions Guido took her to making do with a couple of well-worn and practical maternity outfits, as most of her school-friends seemed to have to.
She could have coped with Guido’s extravagance—with almost anything—if only his behaviour towards her had evolved into something deeper, closer—but it hadn’t. Oh, on one level, things were vastly improved—they did the things that most married couples did now, and regular sex seemed to have made some of his tension disappear. And hers too, if she was being honest. She had made a vow that first night that she was no longer going to use sex as a bartering tool. Apart from anything else, it was counterproductive in Guido’s case.
Resolutely, she put aside her doubts and her fears, and the nagging insecurity that one day he might fall truly in love with another woman and then—contract of marriage or not—it would all be over.
It didn’t matter how tenderly she held him during the night—the true closeness she yearned for somehow evaded them. She felt as though she was playing a part again—only this time the part of young, pregnant bride.
The Prince's Love-Child (The Royal House 0f Cacciatore Book 2) Page 11
